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HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS 
by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul 
And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops at all 

And sweetest  in the gale is heard 
And sore must be the storm 
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land 
And on the strangest sea 
Yet never in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Photo: “Feather heart” by 123rtf